


Rebirth Burns Like Whiskey

by SpiritsFlame



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, One-Sided Relationship, Reincarnation, Sad Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2013-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-06 04:39:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/731528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpiritsFlame/pseuds/SpiritsFlame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin has watched Arthur die too many times. By the time Merlin is calling himself Grantaire, he is too cynical to pretend to care about anything other than Arthur. Arthur who goes by Enjolras, who will always be shining gold and ready to fight for a cause he cannot win. Arthur, who does not remember him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rebirth Burns Like Whiskey

Merlin remembers a time when he was hopeful, when he truly believed that Arthur, with Merlin by his side, could change the world. He’d dreamed of a Camelot united by magic, where he wouldn’t have to hide, and Arthur could look upon him as an equal.

He has had time, in the intervening years, to grow bitter. 

He had not handled Arthur’s death as well as Arthur would have liked- scaring even himself with the depth of his grief- grief and guilt and regret, and endless, endless mourning for the life he never got to live.

In the end, death had been welcome, and he had welcomed the opportunity to move from the world that had never been fair to him. And, of course, the chance to see Arthur again. 

But then, he should have known that it could never be simple. Death had never be able to hold him for long, however much it claimed those he cared about.

The first rebirth had been a blessing- and seeing Arthur again had been a gift he could not quantify. Even though Arthur had looked on him and had not recognised, he would recognise the shining blaze of his king anywhere, in a peasant, in a lord, in a slave. 

And Arthur was ever unchanging, the man who Merlin had once and would always serve, fierce and wild. Merlin had followed him gladly, and when that life had claimed Arthur, too young, always too young, Merlin had followed him there as well.

By the time Merlin finds himself in France, he has learned to expect nothing else. And he has become quite accustomed to the drink that used to make him dizzy at a sip.

\--

Arthur is as he always is. He is full of hope and ideas and even though Merlin can no longer bring himself to believe in the ideals himself, he cannot stop himself from believing in Arthur.

Arthur, who goes by Enjolras in this time, still looks upon Merlin as a stranger, and disdains the man who he knows as Grantaire.

This time, Merlin hangs back. He has come into the story too late, and his place at Arthur’s side has been filled. He is not surprised to see the steady Lancelot in this time, in Combeferre, and he supposes he must be glad that at least Arthur-Enjolras has someone to stand beside him.

And, he thinks, that at this point, he is not a fitting companion. Merlin-as-he-is, Merlin-as-Grantaire is not the Merlin who had served Prince, and then King Arthur so faithfully. He has seen too much failure, too much death.

This revolution, this cause in France is no different from any other that he has seen and died for, and he can not even pretend to care about the cause.

But Arthur is here, and he cares so much, as he always has. And Merlin cannot abandon him.

Still, the cold glares that Enjolras gives him when Merlin offers a sarcastic opinion burns down his throat worse than the absinthe. He remembers a time when a similar comment would have earned him an affectionate shove and a muttered “Idiot.”

Enjolras’ words of ‘drunkard’ and ‘worthless’ are no worse than anything Arthur had said to him, but there is no affection in his gaze and that is hard to accept.

He thinks that Arthur, his Arthur, would be surprised to see the way Enjolras and Grantaire interact- that Arthur would say that their roles have been reversed.

It was always somewhat charming, how Arthur saw himself as a pragmatist, when he had always been so hopelessly idealistic. And Merlin never had been. Optimistic, yes, but he had never been able to see the good in everything the way that Arthur did.

But then, Arthur had never gotten a chance to see how cold Merlin could be, how unforgiving and untrusting when it came to anyone who could hurt them. 

Merlin himself is not so surprised by the way things have fallen. For all of Merlin’s apparently easy smiles and foolish words, he had always been the one who didn’t trust.

Arthur would welcome anyone through the gates of Camelot, gave his trust to anyone who asked it of him, because he so desperately wanted to believe the best. 

And Merlin had always been the one to know how they betrayed him. So, no, Merlin is not surprised that they have ended up here- with Arthur bright and gold at the front of a crowd, and Merin, in the shadows and the bottom of a bottle.

\--

Merlin has lived many lifetimes, some beyond counting, but it is always to Camelot that his thoughts return, and when he slips into old patterns, those patterns are the ones from a castle that is now only a legend.

He cannot keep himself from reaching for Enjolras, just as he could not have stayed away all those years ago. The difference is that Enjolras truly does not want him here, and he tries to pretend that doesn’t bother him. He’s successful in his pretense, but he thinks that because Enjolras never looks at him. Even after all the years, he has not gotten any better at lying to Arthur.

When the meetings at Cafe Musain begin to stir from talk to action, Merlin feels that familiar curl of dread. He should have seen this coming, Arthur could never resist a cause.

It only increases his feels of despair. Is it so much to ask that Arthur live to see thirty years? He has not reached that age in any of the lives that Merlin has spent at his side, and it is so incredibly unfair he wants to scream.

It does sometime make him smile to hear Enjolras talk to anarchy and the failures of a monarchy, when he had once been the greatest King the world could imagine. It is a bitter amusement, and it never lasts for long.

He tries to dissuade him, but Arthur had never listened to him on matters like this, and it is not surprise that Enjolras will not listen to Grantaire. He is, afterall, a cynical drunkard. What can he know about the people and revolution.

Merlin wants to shout at him, to tell him of the deaths he has seen for change, of the endless circles that history walks, the bloody trails that all end in the same place. But Enjolras will hardly look at him, much less hear him, so Merlin has to find other ways to help.

\--

He thinks Enjolras is surprised, when Grantaire offers to help. 

“You can be good for something?” And while there is mockery, cold and cruel as Enjolras is wont to be towards Grantaire, there is something in the tilt of his brow, the way the words are phrased that reminds Merlin too terribly of a world that’s long gone.

“I have a vague ambition in that direction,” he deflects easily, and he thinks he sees Enjolras’ lips quirk. He counts it as a victory and feels pleased.

“You don’t believe in anything,” Enjolras says skeptically, and oh, how untrue that is.

“I believe in you,” the words are painfully sincere, they cannot be anything but. He has followed Arthur into every battle he has fought, in every lifetime, and he will not stop now. He does not believe in France, or this schoolboys revolution, or this thrice damned barricade that will kill them all. 

But he believes in Arthur.

Enjolras must see something in his face, something that makes reconsider his disdain, or at least lay it aside, because he does prompt Grantaire for something.

“Anything,” Merlin replies, before Enjolras has given his command. And the scene is so familiar that he almost can’t help adding “polish your boots?”

Except, of course, this is not that life. Grantaire has no care for Enjolras’ clothing, beyond, perhaps, the desire to remove it. But Merlin will always be there to serve Arthur and he can’t help the offer, however out of place it may be in this time, in this place.

It throws Enjolras off and he falters and for a moment he looks almost just like the Arthur Merlin knew, caught in a moment of surprise.

Then the moment is gone and he is Enjolras again and Merlin shakes himself. He is not Merlin here, not a servant, not even a sorcerer. Only a friend, and barely that. And yet, he will follow Enjolras into battle, into death, as he always has.

\--

That night is cold, and Merlin wants so badly for it to be over. The night before a battle was always terrible, and even the shock of seeing Uther reborn in a French inspector could not rob him off his despair.

Soon enough, this stupid, terrible barricade will take all of their lives, and he thinks even everyone else knows it by now. Even his poor, stubborn, hopeful Arthur. 

Merlin wishes he had been wrong. But he’s seen too much to be surprised. 

He pours himself another drink and tries not to think about having to watch Arthur die again. 

\--

Merlin startles awake at the sound of shouting, and for a moment of terrible disorientation, he thinks that he has fallen asleep at a court banquet, after too much mead and laughter. 

But no, it is too cold for that, and smell of gunpowder is heavy in the air. 

It has been ages and ages since he has passed out from the drink, and he feels a sense of horror at the idea that he may have missed the entire thing. 

To watch Arthur die is terrible. To know it happened and that he was not there at Arthur’s side is beyond imagining. 

But no, he can hear Enjolras’ voice, unshakable even on the brink of death. That, too, is the same. 

Merlin pushes his way through, until he stands at Enjolras’ side- at Arthur’s side. It is where he belongs.

“Do you permit it?” he asks softly, his last gesture of servitude in this lifetime. 

He thinks he sees a flicker of recognition in Enjolras’ eyes, when he reaches out to take Grantaire’s hand, but he cannot be sure.

And then Enjolras is raising that stupid, terrible flag (is it worth dying for? Merlin thinks desperately, furiously.)

For a moment between when the guns fire and the bullets hit them both, Merlin has enough time to hope that the next lifetime will be better.

He does not believe that it will be.

**Author's Note:**

> I took some passages, loosely, directly from Les Miserables, so full credit goes to Hugo on that front. 
> 
> I can be found on tumblr, under the same name.


End file.
